


End of the Road

by flowerofnettles



Series: The End of the Road [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Brotherly Love, Codependency, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Happy Ending, M/M, Multi, Post-Finale, Post-Season/Series 15, reunion scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-22
Updated: 2020-11-22
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:08:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27664478
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flowerofnettles/pseuds/flowerofnettles
Summary: I just needed a little more after the final scene, so this is it--what happens after, when Dean and Sam get in the car and drive until they find their new, permanent home, and Sam finally gets to let go of thirty years without his brother and soulmate, and then what comes after that. (Could be Wincest or not--your choice.)
Relationships: Dean Winchester & Sam Winchester, Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester, Wincest, either way they're soulmates spending eternity together, just depends on how you look at it - Relationship, or not - Relationship
Series: The End of the Road [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2201574
Comments: 35
Kudos: 147





	End of the Road

**Author's Note:**

> Wow, what can I even say? I know we're all still reeling from that finale, and I know there were some mixed feelings here and there, but the more I think about it the more I realize how perfect it was. In a way I'm heartbroken it's over because Sam and Dean were like brothers to me, but then again I'm so grateful their ending was so happy and I wouldn't wish anything different--just the two of them together. This fic was part of my emotional response, and I just couldn't stop thinking about how things might wrap up after that final scene. I hope you enjoy and that you're just as pleased with the ending as I am.

Sam was quiet.

It wasn’t in a way that worried Dean. For the first time ever, Dean couldn’t imagine being worried about anything again, not even about Sam—especially not Sam, because this was Jack’s Heaven now, and even suped up on God power and omniscience, Jack still loved Sam for loving him first and teaching him what he needed to know to be the right kind of God. So Sam was fine here, would be fine here for all of eternity. Dean was confident about that.

For that reason he didn’t worry about Sam’s quietness as they rumbled back the way Dean had come, back toward their little piece of Heaven—literally, the pine forest edge of paradise where everyone they loved was clustered close together and content. He wasn’t exactly sure where they were going, if they could just drive for years and not stop, and what they would find if they did; if the sun was ever going to go down in this fantastic new world; if they’d ever get tired, or hungry, or thirsty; if Bobby and the others would come looking for them if they didn’t arrive soon. To be honest he wasn’t sure of anything right now, except that he was happy.

He was _happy_.

He’d never felt that, ever. He’d gone out in exactly the way he’d always wanted, fighting the fight, and he’d left Sam with the chance at a complete life he could build for himself, and the Roadhouse was somewhere up this road, and Bobby was there, and his parents…Cas was alive and roaming Creation with Jack, and he’d see them soon, he was sure…and it had only been an hour. He’d said goodbye to Sam, gone into the dark not really knowing how long it would be until they found each other again, and for him it’d been nothing but a damn hour and here they were, back together, driving down this long stretch of dusty road in the car that had always been their home long before Jack had made this new one for them. And he was _happy_.

This place wasn’t familiar, but he still knew where he was going, sort of; he knew he was headed in the right direction at least, and that they’d get there when they get there. There was no need to rush, no need to worry, not ever again.

He glanced at Sam, whose soft hazel eyes silently watched the endless trees rush past the passenger window. Dean studied his profile, took in the look of pleasantly weary thoughtfulness touching his features, the faint smile at his lips, the smooth swoop of his hair along his temple, the soft lines of his hoodie under the cream jacket. Sam was here, and _now_ it was perfect.

He drove past the Roadhouse, past the scattered houses tucked away in the area, where all the people lived that he wanted to see. His parents, of course, were first on the list, then he’d take Sam to see Bobby, then they’d find others—Ellen and Jo, Pamela, Kevin….They’d find them all, and it would be spectacular, but first instinct was leading him somewhere else and he followed it unflinchingly. After all, they didn’t have anything to lose. Everything they’d lost was here, not lost any more.

After just a little longer, he turned off the main road onto one made of dry dirt that kicked up in a light spray after their wheels. Through a small batch of thick elm trees was an open clearing, and the driveway faded away here into a lawn of short green grass, which eventually disappeared too, along the edge of the quietest lake Dean had ever seen. The water was tinted a murky blue and so motionless the huge rolling hills on the other side reflected flawlessly like a mirror.

Dean put the car in park and cut it off, and as they stepped out, both brothers took in the rough little log cabin perched on the edge of the solid ground. An open porch wrapped along the whole front and around the side, a red metal roof offset the rustic dark wood lumber walls, curtains were just barley visible in the square windows, and homemade wind chimes already dangled near the front door.

“What is this place?” Sam asked, his soft voice breaking the long, long silence, as they circled the car and met in front of it without taking their eyes off the cottage.

At that, Dean abruptly knew when he reached into his pocket, something would be there….

Sam’s brow furrowed at him as Dean held up a small silver key.

“Ours,” Dean said, and it was less a question and more an acknowledgement of what they both already knew.

The inside had a peculiar feeling of being simultaneously lived in and not, like it had been someone’s home for years but they’d been away for a long time. It was simple, uncomplicated—just an open space with a comfortable living room and a small kitchen, with a hallway off to the side and a sliding glass door leading to the back yard and the lake beyond. A darkened television hung above a black fireplace, a red plaid throw was draped over the back of the couch, a couple of well-placed rugs were spread out here and there; it might’ve looked like any lakeside log cabin, except for a few odd little details—two sturdy bookshelves stood from floor to ceiling on on either side of the fireplace, the stacks of books crammed on them appearing to be as ancient and interesting as those in the bunker library, and above each doorway were subtle carved symbols in Enochian. Something about it felt like an echo of what Bobby’s place had been, what the bunker had become for them both, and what Sam’s home eventually was with his wife and child, except the sense of belonging present here was more potent that all of those places combined.

Dean went to the kitchen and popped open the fridge. When he took in the shelves stacked with bright yellow beer, fresh-cut meat, and spotless vegetables, he couldn’t help but stand up straight as his question about what to do next was answered clearly by his watering mouth.

“Oh, yes,” he chuckled triumphantly. “You know what I’m gonna do? I am about to make a dinner like you’re not gonna believe.”

Sam looked across at him from where he’d wandered to the living room, and the slightly dazed look on his face faded a bit; he looked as if he were about to question if it was a good idea to cook in a house they weren’t sure who owned, but obviously thought better of it a second later as he just nodded with a tiny smile of acceptance.

“Yeah, okay,” he murmured.

As the burgers sizzled, the sun finally started to set over the still lake and Sam went outside to find a pile of chopped wood stacked neatly against the side of the house. He paused for a moment to breathe in the crisp, cooling air as the yellow-white sun drifted lower in the sky, and then went inside and started a fire in the living room fireplace. Once the kindling was picking up flames, Sam sat back with a sigh and scooted until his back was supported by the bottom of the recliner behind him. Resting one arm on a bent-up knee, he watched as the fire spread along the kindling until it began to lick at the dry logs, while the smell of cooked burgers filled the space. 

It wasn’t until Dean turned around with a little _ah-ha_ of self-satisfaction that he noticed his brother’s position. Sensing it would be best to wait on the burgers, he set the two plates aside on the counter and wiped his hands on a clean rag; Sam shifted to face him a little more as Dean settled, his own back against the couch so that they sat perpendicular to each other on the floor while the fire blazed nearby and the sun sank further outside the sliding glass door in its own blaze of soft orange.

After just one heartbeat, Sam’s brow furrowed and one corner of his mouth tilted in an almost quizzical smile.

“I just can’t believe this is real,” he said, as quiet as ever.

Dean nodded as Sam’s eyes flickered up to him, and he knew exactly how Sam felt; it’d only been a couple of hours for him too, after all, and somehow this felt like a dream and yet also like the realest thing that had ever happened to him.

“Yeah,” he agreed, with a small smile that matched Sam’s, and then after a beat he added, “How long was it?”

Because that’s what he really wanted to know, what he really cared about now—all the life Sam lived without him; every tiny detail of that life was all he wanted to hear for this first little while.

The younger Winchester was silent for another moment, and then Dean saw it, a flash of deeply rooted emotion cutting across his face an instant before he opened his mouth and spoke in a voice full of a lifetime despite sounding only thirty-seven.

“Thirty years,” he answered, eyes meeting Dean’s again.

Dean wanted to be surprised, but part of him knew it would be something like that and the other part of him had _hoped_ for it, so he just nodded and didn’t pull his gaze away from Sam once.

“I got married,” Sam continued, memories dancing softly in his eyes, “to Eileen. We had a-a kid, a boy. We named him Dean.”

Dean felt his smile turn the tiniest bit watery at that but he covered it up before it could threaten to spill over.

“And?” he pushed, prompting Sam to meet his gaze again so he could see the old, familiar humor in it. “Well, was he _awesome_? With a name like that, I don’t see how he couldn’t have been.”

Sam huffed on a trembling laugh, his own eyes full as he nodded and smiled past the tears.

“He was wonderful,” he said simply, and Dean believed him.

And then he was glad—he was so, so glad Sam had gotten that even if it meant he’d had to go, that they’d needed to be separated again for a while for it to be a reality. He was downright grateful to this kid, Dean Junior (he liked the sound of that), for putting that light in Sam’s eyes. He wanted to know more, but Sam wasn’t finished talking, so he kept on listening.

“It was all wonderful,” the younger man continued, and the trembling in his voice was shaking in his hands now, and his breathing. “My life, it was perfect…almost.”

Dean supposed he shouldn’t have been surprised, but he still found himself wanting to stutter out his own little laugh as he recalled his exact words to Bobby in the few moments after his arrival.

A tear slipped out of Sam’s eye now, followed by another, and Dean watched patiently, just letting him process his words before he said them, taking in every tiny trace of emotion flitting over Sam’s face like it was something precious, because it was. This was thirty years’ worth of _feeling_ Sam needed to do all at once, to put it past him so they could start on eternity, and so Dean would let him, and just listen.

“You were right,” Sam whispered, his breaths coming out in controlled shudders now, as more tears dropped from hazel eyes full of an overwhelming intensity. “You never left me. You were there, with me, every step—your voice in my head, telling me to keep fighting even when…” He had to stop, to look away, to clench his jaw for a moment as he shook bodily so he could continue, though his voice broke at the end anyway. “…even when I didn’t want to.”

Dean felt his eyes and throat burning as he saw it plain in Sam’s gaze, all the times he’d contemplated following Dean when it got too hard to carry, all the times he didn’t because he’d known it wasn’t what Dean would’ve wanted for him.

“I missed you,” Sam went on, and he looked now exactly like he had back in that warehouse, his face twisted now with the agony of memory, tears falling freely and his voice barely more than a whisper. “Dean, I _missed_ you. I thought about you every day.” He swallowed, looked at Dean straight on without wavering, and repeated definitively, “ _Every_ day.”

Dean released a shaky breath of his own and he knew his own tears were visible now, as the weight of what that meant sank in. Every day. Sam had grieved him every day, just like it would have been if it were reversed, just like he’d worried it would be. He might not have always recognized Sam’s love for him for what it was, might have underestimated it in the worst moments of his life, but when he had died he was under no such delusions anymore. He’d known exactly who he was to Sam then, how cherished and necessary, and he’d known how it would feel to have that ripped away. He would always remember being excruciatingly aware of it as he’d exhaled his last breath, but it still made his breath catch hearing it— _every day_.

And every day Sam still picked himself up and kept going through it, and he’d been strong enough to pick up a kid too. All at once Dean was prouder of his brother than he’d ever been, and he felt overwhelmed with that alone, at the courage it took to give Dean what he’d wanted—for Sam to have a good life. That’s all he’d ever wanted—a good death for himself, and a good life for Sam—and Sam had made it happen even though it broke his heart to do it for so many years apart. He’d lived, for Dean, in Dean’s honor, and he’d remembered him every day just like he said, waiting to see him again just like Dean had waited that long hour while he drove.

Sam’s shoulders shook, his breaths stuttering, as he tried to steady his voice to speak again, but it emerged as quiet and jagged as before.

“Dean,” he whispered, gazing straight into his brother’s eyes like it was the most important thing he’d ever said or ever would, “I love you, _so much_.”

Dean felt like his breath was pulled out of him, and then Sam continued, with all the same reverence and awe and _love_ Dean had felt that dark day, looking at Dean like he was more valuable and remarkable than even the perfect Heaven that lay outside the window,

“ _My big brother_.”

And he couldn’t take it any more then; leaning up, he caught Sam as the younger man reached for him too, and they ended up with Sam cradled against his right shoulder, his tears soaking his flannel as his brother released thirty years’ worth of loss and grief and gratitude and hope all at once.

As he leaned them back carefully against the sturdy couch leg, Dean’s hands held tight and he dropped a kiss onto the top of Sam’s head, repeating assurances in a gruff and half-smiling voice as he thought _this is it, this is all there will ever be, there’s no more of this again, ever_ —no more deaths, no more wondering who would have to live without the other next. That was the end of the goodbyes, and now they were home, a home that was just him and Sam, just like it had always been.

Eventually they’d get up. They’d sit outside and look over the water and eat those burgers cooling on the counter and Sam would tell him more about the wonderful Dean Junior with his long hair and his soft, intelligent eyes. They’d find which of the three bedrooms was meant to be each of theirs and which was a guest room and they’d sleep and sleep like the peaceful dead, and when the sun rose here they’d go and find everyone else they’d been missing. They’d hunt down Cas and Jack, and give them both hugs that would crush the bones of lesser beings. They’d not just forgive their dad, but they’d thank him for the life he gave them, and they’d sit at the dinner table with him and their mom and it would be Thanksgiving every night if they all wanted. They’d go and annoy Bobby for a while until he kicked them out of his house with a warning not to drink and drive even though it didn’t matter here. Dean would cook and see what sort of entertainment there was on TV in Heaven, and Sam would read those old books on the shelves and tell Dean everything he learned in his most excited geek voice. Maybe they’d stay put for a while, or maybe they’d go out within a week and drive and drive forever and just see everything.

Eventually Eileen would arrive, and she’d smile fondly at Sam but go to live on the other side of the valley with another hunter who had her heart now. And Sam would let her, with a final kiss to her forehead and a loving and heartfelt _thank you_. It would be many more years before Dean Jr. came, what with time being different up there and all, but he’d arrive with stories of a new generation of Winchesters who had dusted off an old bunker in Kansas and were working out of it to save lives and hunt evil, a family business where it wasn’t just two of them like it had been with Sam and Dean, but now parents and children and cousins and siblings, all Men and Women of Letters legacies who had proudly embraced the magnificent stories of their grandfather and his brother, and were poised to do good in a world that needed them.

Eternity would keep going and going, but Sam and Dean would finally stay still.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Oh--and while this one wasn't over-the-top Wincest-y, I am planning on posting an actual slow burn Wincest fic very soon. Just in case you're interested! Thanks again!


End file.
